


One Step Ahead

by SassyEggs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Rickeen Shipweek, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:49:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: She’d shown up in his life and settled right in, and he’d been trying to catch up ever since.Written for Day 6 of Rickeen Shipweek—Prompt: Fluff





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written Rickeen, hope I did it justice.

First it was Robb and Jon, insisting they were way too old to be living at home. But before they could even move in Jon joined the Army, so when moving day came it was Robb and Theon.   Spring Break of their fourth year in college, Theon had returned to their little apartment with a sun burn while Robb had returned with a wife.  Theon was pissed (as he tended to be whenever someone ruined his fun) but continued living with the newlyweds until they decided they’d rather have a house.

So Sansa moved out of the dorms and into Robb’s old room, but Theon Greyjoy was a party animal who never took her complaints seriously, always bringing friends over and drinking and smoking and generally being irresponsible. She graduated _before_ that slacker, and had a job before he even declared a major.  

A year later when she replaced her annoying roommate with her annoying sister she couldn’t say if that was an upgrade or not. They fought as much as they used to- Sansa would complain about the wet towels Arya left on the floor while Arya raged against the truly absurd amount of time Sansa needed in the bathroom.  It was just like being at home.  So when Arya yelled that she was moving in with a commune of artists Sansa was too relieved to worry about paying the rent.

At first. By the second month of missing a payment, though, Sansa knew she was in a bind, especially since the landlord had suggested she start paying with favors instead.  Their parents had been completely opposed to the apartment in the first place so asking them was out of the question- they’d just tell her to move home, and she didn’t _want_ to move home.  So when Arya’s new weirdo hippie boyfriend said he knew someone who was looking for a place, Sansa was too desperate to ask any questions.

It was awful. Her new roommate was a great big scarred warrior, and he was so rude and so gross and so mean _all_ of the time.  A nightmare, really.  She begged her younger brothers to pool their resources and move in because she just couldn’t handle it anymore, then steeled herself to break the news to her asshole roommate that he would have to find someplace else to live.  It had not gone according to plan.  Bran and Rickon moved in, yes, but when the warrior moved out Sansa went with him. 

Bran and Rickon were then the sole occupants of an apartment neither one of them ever wanted. They made the best of it, though.  Bran’s scholarship was enough to pay the rent while Rickon’s job in the public library took care of the utilities, meals were usually PB&J and the occasional bowl of ramen.  Not a bad set-up, not really, until the day one of Bran’s friends showed up, claiming he had nowhere else to go.  Jojen had crashed on the couch, then crashed in Bran’s bed.  Five weeks later found the two brothers at the kitchen table, one explaining to the other that he would be moving out but not to worry, he’d already found someone to take his place, rent included.

And that’s when Shireen moved in.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Rickon, are you done with the television?”

“Oh, yeah, you can watch whatever you want,” he shouted from the kitchen.

He expected her to change the channel. Instead she turned it off. _Oops_.  He probably should have done that himself. 

Rickon had known immediately that living with her was going to be a problem and all their interactions proved him right. It seemed that he was always just one step behind her in everything and it made him nervous in his own home.

Shireen had always been in his life, in one way or another. Their families were a part of the same social circle so they ran into each other several times a year at whatever event their parents insisted they attend.   At first she was just _that girl,_ an older girl with a blur of scars across her cheek and neck, who talked with bigger words than necessary but not in a pretentious way.  In Rickon’s book, Shireen was alright, just another pal to play with at whatever party they happened to both be at.

Like most children, though, Rickon eventually became aware of the differences between boys and girls, and Shireen went from ‘buddy’ to ‘beauty’ and became untouchable, unattainable, just a few years older but somehow completely out of reach.

She’d show up at the Lannister pool party all bright shiny smiles and _I made some strawberry cupcakes I hope you don’t mind_ and he’d scurry upstairs with Tommen to play video games, hoping to get a taste of that pink frosting later when she was no longer around to see. 

She’d show up at a Christmas party, cheeks kissed by cold and lips lightly painted, and he’d stare at her from whatever dark corner he was hiding in, too scared to approach her and too content to just watch. She was so lovely, a little porcelain doll, the imperfection of her scars somehow making her more perfect.

She’d shown up here, at their apartment, ready to move in with all her stuff in boxes, and he’d immediately fallen into the background of his own home, following behind with furniture and houseplants and the mattress she would be sleeping on. In a room right next to his.

She’d shown up in his life and settled right in, and he’d been trying to catch up ever since.

+ 

“Cold?” she asked, peering down at him with a gentle smile. He _was_ cold, was curled up into himself on the couch and shivering, but he was at a critical point in _Uncharted_ and didn’t want to stop.  Before he could answer, though, she grabbed a blanket off the recliner and tossed it over him, tucking it in around his waist and warming him instantly.  He could have done that himself, she just beat him to it; she always beat him to everything.

It wasn’t that he was lazy, per se, it was more that he didn’t really think about it. He’d reach for his toothbrush in the morning and realize she had put it away, something that had never even occurred to him was an option.  She’d eat her buttered whole-grain toast for breakfast, then casually wash his cereal bowl and spoon which he was totally going to wash later.  She’d take the trash out when it got full while he just continued to pile soda cans on top but... ok, well, he definitely should have thought of that one, but the garbage chute was all the way at the end of the _hall._

He really tried to follow her lead, to learn from her example, but he was always a step behind.

She never ever complained. Somehow it would have been better if she did.  Because the truth was he didn’t want her taking care of him, treating him like he was a youngster who couldn’t handle his own apartment.  More than anything he wanted her to see him as a partner. 

+ 

“You alright?” he asked when he found her standing in the kitchen with her eyes closed.

“Oh. Yeah.  I’m trying to decide if I like this new perfume.  What do you think?”

“Perfume? I don’t... smell anything.”

“It’s right here, silly,” she laughed, tilting her head back and pointing high on her neck. “What do you think?”

He was not about to tell her what he thought, not with her tilting her head back like that, eyes closed, smiling, so much like how he imagined her during his very best fantasies. Instead he leaned in, brought his nose close to where her finger pointed at her pulse, breathed in her scent and her warmth and her softness and...

“Smells good,” he hissed then scurried to his room, shutting the door quickly. _So good._ He took a cold shower and stayed in his room the rest of the night.

She obviously didn’t know what she did to him, and day by day things seemed to be getting worse.

+ 

She was folding dish towels and putting them away while he stood there watching like an infant; he didn’t even know they _had_ so many dish towels.  Shireen had obviously purchased them, used them, washed them, put them away, repeat till the end of time... his sole contribution was apparently just standing there gaping at her, completely useless.

“I was thinking about going down to the hot tub,” she smiled at him and knocked the drawer closed with her hip. “You wanna join me?”

Rickon balked, his brain whirling. Shireen in a swimsuit.  Shireen in the dark.  Shireen in a hot tub, with him, arms and legs brushing together, steam curling up off the water, off her skin, eyelashes wet, body warm and limber... if she had any idea of the thoughts swimming in his head no way would she ever issue such an invitation.

“Oh. No, I uh... I think I’ll just... watch TV instead.” 

A twist of her lips meant he’d displeased her; she never did go down to that hot tub.

+ 

“What’s this?” she asked, wandering into the darkened kitchen just as he got the candle lit.

“Happy Birthday!” he announced, sweeping his arm over a single cupcake, a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries, and a bottle of Corvina.

To say her squeal of delight was _everything_ to him would be a grievous understatement.  He’d never seen her so happy, and the fact that he had put that smile on her face, had surprised her, made it all so much better.

That happiness faded as he watched her coo over every one of his gifts. She was dressed way too nice for hanging around the apartment- dark purple top and prim black skirt, hair pulled back, a touch of lipstick and... yep, that was definitely eyeshadow.   She looked pretty.  Classy.  Rickon was immediately suspicious.

“You have plans?”

“No, no plans,” she blushed. _So pretty._ “I’m having dinner with my parents tomorrow but today... no, nothing.”

It was probably selfish that he was relieved she had nothing else going on. But he _was._

“Well, then... shall we?” he asked, holding up the bottle of moderately-priced red.

Shireen had to open the wine since he’d never done it before but it was only a little embarrassing; maybe he was getting used to her being better at things, or maybe he was just happy they’d be drinking it together.

The bottle was empty what felt like seconds later but they lingered on the sofa, talking and laughing and sharing the plate of strawberries. Shireen had slipped her shoes off and tucked her legs up under her, combed fingers through her hair like a little mermaid; the only thing missing was the seashell bra and he cursed his brain for even going there. 

“I love strawberries,” she told him, nibbling the chocolate off of one. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he lied. Smiled. 

The air felt different suddenly, weirdly alive and warm, and Shireen seemed closer and... glowy _. It’s the wine,_ he told himself.  The wine made everything seem better than it was.

“I’m having a really nice time, Rickon.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“It’s just... it’s my birthday, and I guess I was hoping for... a little romance...”

Oh. Now he got what was going on.  The touch of makeup, the dress and shoes, the way her eyes narrowed when she glanced at him, the way she played with her hair... she was hoping for romance; instead she got him.  And now she was sitting there, fumbling through an apology and trying to let him down easy.  He felt terrible.  He felt stupid.  

“Right. Ok, well... maybe you could still go out?  Find someone to hang with?”  She was old enough to get into bars so that was definitely an option.  Someone would want her, he knew, because _he_ wanted her.  And he wanted to say it, he wanted so badly to tell her she was amazing, that any man would be lucky to have even a moment of her time, but when he looked over at her she was _glaring_ back.  

“You’re a lazy bastard, Rickon Stark.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I have to do _everything!”_

Well that was true, he supposed, but before he could protest or apologize (he wasn’t sure which one) she put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in for a kiss.

As many times as he had imagined kissing her he’d never imagined it like this, with his head pressed back into the sofa cushions and her leaning into him, breath hot against his cheek. He never imagined a kiss could be so hard, that she could be so hungry for him, and he certainly never expected to see uncertainty in her eyes when she finally pulled away.

“Alright?” she asked, nervous.

It was alright- _more_ than alright- but words failed him and he could only nod, grateful when she leaned back in for another kiss.  He really was always a step behind her but that was okay, he’d just follow her lead. 

He’d follow her anywhere.


End file.
